Page 75 of Inferno

I feel the barrel of a gun connect to the back of my head. Fuck.

“Emil will escort you back to the house, Princess,” Vlad says softly and steps forward.

Gripping my chin harshly, my gun hits against his chest and the click of Emil’s safety makes my blood drain.

“Well? Death or duty, Charlotte?”

Reluctantly, I spit out “Duty.”

“That fire in your eyes. I can’t wait to take it from you,” he whispers, stroking my cheek, and bile rises up my throat.

He peels my fingers from my weapon and my arm goes limp as the gun is removed from my skull.

“I won’t be long. Me and your father have some unfinished business. His welcome here has been overstayed, don’t you think? Your child has taken his space.”

Tears well in my eyes.

“Please don’t.” I beg, and his evil laughter penetrates through me.

“I can and I will. I’ll make it quick. And tell him the good news. And how you sacrificed him.”

Emil roughly grabs my hands and shoves them behind my back. I don’t fight back.

These men are dangerous and their threats real.

“I’ll see you soon.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead, I resist the urge to slam it into his nose.

What the hell do I do now?

Chapter 25

CHARLOTTE

5 Years Later.

Moscow.

Asearing pain rips through my face as Vlad’s deep, gravelly voice slices through my sleep. My body shakes as I open my eyes. My wrists sting and burn as I tug on the rough, cold chains, the metal biting into my skin.

“Time to wake up, whore,” he spits in my face.

I keep still and quiet. If I behave, I will see my daughter. If I fuck up, I stay chained here.

My limp arms fall, and before I can sit up, his rough hand closes around my throat, the pressure pinning me to the mattress.

“Today is a special day, isn’t it?” he asks, stroking his index finger over my lip.

I search his dark eyes. He looks at me with pure hatred.

“What do you mean?” I whisper.

I have to be careful. It’s not just myself that I have to fight for now.

“How could you possibly forget, maylshka?” He pauses, and his jaw ticks. I choke on a cough as his fingers tighten around my throat.

“Today is the anniversary of Isabella’s conception. Or shall we call it the date my slut of a wife bedded another man?” He says her name with such malice, it almost makes me feel sick.

Pulling me up by my neck, he forces his face close, his stale, smoky breath a suffocating wave.

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